Jetsam
by YoungBek
Summary: Ianto and Owen on a tech retrieval in the Welsh countryside. What could go wrong? Written for Torchwood Fic Week under the prompt "Rift".


This fanfiction was beta-d by all that is perfection, boredsince1894. If I haven't beaten it into the ground enough, go give her some love, she deserves it. It is only through her help that my commas aren't a disaster. Anyway, enjoy.

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Owen crushed his foot onto the brake pedal, causing Ianto to fly forward. The seat belt that secured him to his chair cut into his side and he grunted at the momentary pain. The SUV screeched to a halt, and the office boy cringed as he thought of the maintenance that it would probably have to go through. Between Jack and Owen, it was a wonder Ianto had time to keep it in one piece.

The medic, paying no heed to the shaken man in the passenger seat or the welfare of the company car, sprung from the driver's side. He was already searching through the boot for supplies before Ianto had even wretched himself from his seat. The archivist picked up a lightweight gun and his PDA, content that it would be an easy retrieval. He lifted the containment unit in his hand, and flexed his fingers until he found the most comfortable grip.

Owen, however, had different thoughts of how the afternoon would go. He had already found his bag of supplies, and was struggling to heave it onto his back. He finally pulled it from the organized chaos of the boot and swung it over his shoulder, already turned away from the SUV.

"Do you really think you'll need all that?" Ianto questioned, knowing how Owen would complain if he had to carry it for too long.

"Better safe than sorry, yeah?" Owen shouted without turning back, already walking ahead in the direction of the activity.

"Just don't tell me about it when your back starts hurting." Ianto retorted, following closely behind him. He held his PDA out in front of himself to make sure they stayed on course. He squinted to see the dim screen in the rare Welsh sunlight.

It only took ten minutes of walking until he heard the first groan from Owen. The medic hopped a few times to allow the bag to ride higher on his back, and rubbed at his spine.

"How much longer until we get to wherever this stupid junk is?" He asked.

"About fifteen more minutes" Ianto responded, rolling his eyes. He tried to ignore the hopeless whine that fell from Owen's lips.

The branches snapped and broke underneath their feet as they moved farther into the dense woods. It was hardly even noticeable that there had once been a path there, leading to the warehouse that they were moving towards.

The light that was streaming through the leaves danced across the ground, and Owen watched it closely with his back hunched downward. Ianto, however, had his eyes glued firmly to his screen, making sure that they didn't stray. Every few minutes his feet would find a tree root, and he'd scramble to catch himself before he fell. Somehow he had managed to do it quietly enough that Owen hadn't yet noticed. He'd liked to keep it that way.

Finally the trees thinned out to a few sparse brambles. Past a short, bare valley stood the warehouse. There was a subtle path winding towards a road. It had long since closed down, leading only to a fallen cliff-side. They stopped at the edge of the tree line to take in the view. Ianto did a quick scan of the area around him. The men glanced at each other and began to walk across the field, growing ever nearer to the large derelict building.

They reached the rotted wood of the door. Both reached out a hand towards it, but the archivist stopped short, glancing sideways at Owen. The medic's hand drifted cautiously closer to the surface of the building. Steadily he pushed against it and they both jumped away as the door crumbled beneath his fingers.

A dank, putrid smell rushed to meet them, and their disgusted groans combined in the air. Both stood in the doorway, wanting nothing more than to leave the room to itself. Unfortunately, they had a job to do. They walked forward from the light, scanning the ground for anything that might be of alien origin.

Ianto was the first to spot it, sitting on its side across the room, blinking rapidly but dimly. He nudged Owen's side to get his attention then pointed at the object. Both nodded and creeped towards it, rotating so they were on either side. Just as Ianto began to scan it, Owen walked forward, reaching out towards the flashing lights. Ianto didn't notice until it was too late to stop him.

Owen's hand made contact with the stark white metal. A deafening boom filled the room, reverberating off the already crumbling walls. There was a pained shout from Owen, then silence. For a few strained seconds there was nothing but the panting coming from either of the men. Both were curled up on the ground, mentally taking stock of each of their limbs.

"Shit," Owen grunted, filling the room with noise yet again, cutting through the ringing in the archivist's ears.

"Owen?" He questioned, sitting up hesitantly. He silently hoped that the explosion hadn't as bad as it sounded.

"Over here." He whined, laying on his side just a few feet away, clutching at his calf. "Thing fucking shot me."

"Maybe if you hadn't touched it before I decided it was safe."

"Who made you the authority?"

"Well I'm obviously doing a better job than you." He crawled to his side. "You sure it's a bullet? Not shrapnel or anything?"

"No, and it only shot off one. Fucking bastard was aiming for me."

"It's not alive, Owen. Here, roll up your trousers." He complied and whined as he peeled back the fabric from his blood soaked leg. "Right." He said, not knowing where to begin. He leaned over the injured man to slide the bag from his shoulders, pulling it to him. He opened the zip and peered into its depths.

"Would be worse if I hadn't brought that." Owen said through clenched teeth. Ianto pulled the anti-septic out and doused the leg with it. Owen let out a stuttering hiss. "Bet you're glad I brought it now."

"I'm not the one who needs it. I couldn't care less if you brought it or not." He got the forceps ready and Owen eyed them warily. "So am I doing this, or can you do it to yourself?"

"If I had a pound every time I heard that…" He said as he found the painkillers in the bottom of the sack, taking a few less than he needed to keep his hands steady.

"You'd be a rich man. Now answer the question."

"I'll do it, just stand by with the anti-septic." He pried the forceps from Ianto's shaking hands. Slowly he let out an uneasy breath. He always hated doing this. He'd lost count of the amount of times he'd had to pluck out a bullet from himself. He hesitated only a second before jolting forward, tools in hand. The taller man's eyes were glued to what he was doing. The forceps twisted and turned as they searched through the flesh. Owen's eyes were clamped shut using only his sense of touch. He breathed heavily, trying with all his might not to cry out in front of his rival. He gasped as he finally located the bullet and Ianto felt a rush of energy to do something, though he had nothing he could do.

As Owen tried to find the right angle to pull it from his body, the archivist stood to finally get around to scanning the object. The PDA chimed reassuringly and told him that the mechanism had only had one round of defense. He took out his handkerchief and grabbed the device with it, shoving both unceremoniously into the containment unit.

He turned back to Owen who was just laying a bandage over the wound, getting ready to tape it down. He stood, waiting with a hand on his hip.

"You sure you can walk on that?"

"What? You want to carry me?"

"I was just hoping I could get away with leaving you here."

"Very funny, teaboy. I think I might be able to walk on it." He mutter as he heaved himself to his feet, immediately taking the weight off of his injured leg and putting his arm on the taller man's shoulder. Ianto, for his part, grabbed the shorter man's arm to steady him, waiting for him to get his breath back.

"Shit, you sure?" Ianto asked, not removing his supporting hand. He checked Owen's eyes for shock or something else besides pain that could be affecting him.

"Not entirely, no" He shot back, laying his arm back down at his side, despite Ianto still clutching it. As he swayed on his feet, he silently thanked his co-worker.

"So?"

"I don't want to think about the other options."

"Being?"

"That offer to carry me still stand?" Ianto sighed heavily and stared at Owen's pain laden face. Something settled inside him and he begrudgingly nodded his head.

"Tell no one." He said in his most threatening tone. Owen tried to roll his eyes, but couldn't stop the frightened chill that ran through him.

"Trust me, I don't want this getting out either." Both men groaned as they finally accepted what they had to do. Ianto stood in front of him and stooped forward, trying to make it easier for Owen to get on his back. He adjusted to the new weight as Owen clambered onto him.

"On you go!" He said sarcastically, directly in his ears, eliciting a groan from Ianto.

"Fuck off." He said as he set himself into motion, picking up the backpack and containment unit before stepping over the moldy wood to the outside world.

They still had a little while until dark, but neither of them wanted to be out too late in the woods. The wilderness at night brought up too many memories that neither of them wanted to dwell on.

Finally they were in view of the SUV. He unlocked the car and let Owen slip from him to hobble his way to the passenger seat. He set up his things into the boot, then sunk into the driver's side, looking like he needed a very long nap. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled into the road.

"My back bloody hurts." He complained, but met only snores next to him.

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Thank's for reading, as always, it means a lot.


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